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Achilles/Bio
Achilles was the prince of the highly trained and skilled Myrmidons, a crew of Greek hoplite warriors. Peleus entrusted his son to the care of Chiron, a centaur and legendary teacher of heroes. When Achilles grew up, Thetis confronted her son, offering him two choices: a quiet, happy, and long life with a good family, or a fierce and violent one full of glory that would end with him dying young. Achilles chose the latter. When the Trojan war began with the abduction of Helen of Sparta, King Agamemnon called the Myrmidons to arms. Although Thetis tried to prevent him from leaving, Achilles sailed to the beaches of Troy to join the fight. As the war dragged on into its tenth year, Agamemnon chooses to make a concubine belonging to Achilles, Briseus, his own. Achilles, insulted and infuriated, ordered his Myrmidons to stop fighting, and the Greeks lost much ground without them. Achilles' closest friend, Patroclus, decided to take Achilles' place and lead the Myrmidons into battle. He donned Achilles's armor and drove back the Trojans, but was killed by the Trojan champion Hector. When he learned what happened, Achilles flew into a rage. He slaughtered countless numbers of Trojans on his search for revenge, finally slaying Hector outside the gates of Troy. Achilles would meet his prophesied end shortly afterward, being felled by the arrows of Paris, Hector's brother. __TOC__ Battle vs. Gerald Tarrant (by Leolab) Achilles is walking in the Forest, moving as stealthily as he can until he reaches a clearing. Once there, he spots a large bird flying above him. Believing this to be a message from the Gods, he stops and unlimbers his spear and javelin, but the bird attacks. Achilles manages to raise his shield in time to block the talons from striking his eyes, and manages to wound the creature with this sword. Gerald Tarrant, shapeshifted into the bird, feeds off of the warrior’s fear and heals himself. Tarrant then grabs the sword in his talons and works Coldfire, shattering the sword and causing Achilles to drop it. He then lands, and shifts back into his normal form. Achilles picks up his javelin and throws it at the Adept, but Tarrant uses Coldfire to freeze the spear and shatter it long before it reaches him. Achilles picks up his spear and charges Tarrant, who draws his own sword in the process. Achilles jabs several times, only to have his attacks dodged or deflected by the Coldfire-infused sword. Tarrant meets with a similar frustration, as all of his strikes glance off of the Achaean’s shield. Tarrant uses the nature of Coldfire to his advantage, as Achilles’ proximity causes it to freeze his soul. Tarrant, dodging, parrying, and riposting knows that he is safe; in his state of Unlife, he has no soul to freeze. Achilles notices the peril, and bashes Tarrant with his shield. He goes flying, and Achilles charges in again, trying to hit Tarrant into a tree. The Forest responds to Tarrant’s will, and the trees disappear to allow him to land softly. He works Coldfire at Achilles’ shield, freezing it and giving the warrior major damage to his shield arm. Tarrant, seeing his opponent weakened, takes out his gun. Banishing all doubts about the gun from his mind, he levels it at his opponent. Tarrant takes his time, savoring the terror coming off of the clearly defeated warrior. After his hunger is states, the Hunter pulls the trigger, ending Achilles’ life. Expert's Opinion Please consider a contribution by writing an expert's opinion as to why Gerald won. To see the original battle, weapons, and votes, click here. Battle vs. Beowulf (by El Alamein) Sing, O Muses, of the wrath of Achilles… I''' Indomitable he woke, and fresh in rage, Achilles in his prime. The walls of Troy were wan and dry, and death echoed from within. Apollo’s glint shone from his noble head and glimmered in his eye, His heavy step all but shook the earth His grip all but stilled the wind And his growl but calmed the sea. Achilles’ gaze swept the barren land, and glared through the dusty waves That rolled and parched the throats of men who languished from within. “Onward, men!” the warlord roared, his blade held high in hand. “Slay these Trojan dogs and wipe their very presence from the land!” His Myrmidons were vicious, and eager to the teeth, armed up and down from head to toe With blade and spear and axe and bow. The very land on which Troy stood quivered at his approach And the shouts of death intensified As the Achaeans grew ever near. The tall proud gates swung open, resistance stumbled out, But the Myrmidons held firm. “Leave no foolish mortal standing!” His face was washed in red, With blood and bone and guts and skin hanging from his sword. His heart was black with anger, his eyes flashed scorching flame, And he turned back Trojan soldiers who had not fallen to his blows. Achilles, born of war, let weapon slip and fall from hand, and With fist and knee brought punishment to the foes still within his grasp. Tangible panic swept the ranks of the Trojans still in march Who turned and fled and left their slain Crumbled in the dust. “I am the beast of battle! No man has bested me yet! So come and bring your finest man to truly test my skill!” Even as the blood of others dripped from the champion’s chin, He knew not that the foe he bade approached from the North. '''II The son of Ecgþeow, the king’s own man, Beowulf, he was, strength ripe in arm, And alert and heightened of mind. The devilspawn of the Danes was dead, the fiend, the horror, Grendel, and his mother lay rotting too. Hrunting high in hand, through the misty morn, The warrior-prince strode bravely forward in search of his ruthless adversary. The bane of man they said he was, a thousand men killed at his foot, the bones Piling high in an altar of war. His name was spoken in whispers, the sound brought fear to man, yet Beowulf roared to the sky “Achilles! The great! Your hour is near! Sharpen your weapon, but tremble in dread! For your equal has come!” His calm, cool stride matched not his ire Or the quiver in his lip as his nostrils flared and he silently steeled his nerve. The back-bent boughs of the wispy trees swayed slowly in the wind But that was all to be heard save for Beowulf’s step in the boggy marsh. Guided by God in mind and heart He endured no qualms that his righteous journey was doomed to peril, That it would be him to fall. The ring-mail held through the dense, low shrubs where brambles skulked within And his tough leather pants kept right at bay the gnats and flies That sought to dine upon his flesh. Well-armed and -armored the valiant warrior stood, A proud and noble disposition hanging on his face But deep within his mind ran fast to prepare himself for what lay ahead. So quietly, and to himself, Beowulf made his final heartfelt prayer: “Oh Lord, keep my mind firm and my arm stiff as I seek to end the war in South, For there is much suffering there.” III The road to Troy was cracked, torn dust Once paved, now derelict. Yet Beowulf treaded with watchful eyes for the man he hunted, Ready for any form of attack. The morning sun shone with a bright orange glaze, and sparkled in the air Over the warrior’s head as he squinted through the rolling waves of heat. “Oh, Achilles, you god of war! Cause of a thousand deaths! Your butchery stops here and now! Step out and face me, hand-to-hand! Test your muscle, might, and speed!” Achilles sat in the dirt but looked with rapid rage At the challenge unmistakably roared. So he dove to his chariot and gripped the reins with an iron determination in hand. “You Myrmidons! Beasts of battle! Fight strongly for your champion! For when I return, I will have satisfied my yearn to prove myself unbeatable!” A thousand cheers bid him goodbye, the vicious sacker of Troy, And the chariot bounded up and down on the broken path below. “Mysterious rival! I have heard your call! Your death is on the way! So quick, prepare, lest I arrive, with sword in hand, and catch you unaware!” The Greek’s reply hit no deaf ears, and Beowulf, courage in heart, Made fast his run towards the source of sound from whence Achilles’ boast came. An arrow nocked to his bowstring quivered as he peered into the sun. The rumbling chariot stopped as its rider spotted foe And hefted spear up high in hand. The arrow flew true through the air but fell far of its mark. With a hate-fueled thrust burning in anger, The spearhead plunged into Beowulf’s thigh. Raw, vicious pain surged through his mind and bit into his leg But Beowulf snapped the shaft in half With a downward strike from his palm. The curse of Troy stood stone in shock, for his spear was bested by none, And Hrunting slashed across his jaw and drew the champion’s blood. Achilles’ teeth shone white with fury, arm swinging shield round To slam edge-first into Beowulf, throwing him to the dirt. His arm curled up and twitched in pain But Beowulf righted himself and resumed the attack. Blade clashed on shield, striking sparks, and shaking the ground below. Achilles pushed for every inch but his mortal foe held firm And rained hard blows that rang the bronze but failed to punch straight through. In a burst of furious strength, Achilles beat Beowulf down And leaped upon him, shortsword drawn, slashing at his throat. The wound was grave, blood bubbled deep, but Beowulf choked through And grabbed Achilles’ feathered helm and crashed it against his fist. Ears ringing hard, the Greek fell back and the Dane stumbled to his feet Dragging his foe as he stumbled again, claws dug into his shoulders. Achilles roared in pain as Beowulf raked his nails through his flesh But he brought his knuckles to the warrior’s nose And his foot up to his chest. “What a testament to my glory and strength! That I’ll have beaten a man like you!” “You boast too soon, Son of Peleus! This battle’s mine to win! I’ll take you head and hold it high! You’ll pay yet for your sins!” So Beowulf wiped blood from his mouth and threw sword to the ground. Achilles, laughing, mocked his foe but followed suit. “Hand to hand? You daring fool! But that’s my gift of war!” He grappled high to meet his foe’s hands, but the smirk melted from his face. His rage dissipated in an instant His strength was outmatched. Beowulf roared and pushed down hard, Achilles’ arms cracked and bent. The Greek stumbled back, hit the ground, his elbows worn, and broke. “I am God-driven vengeance! And you’ll pay for all, here and now!” Hrunting flashed, but Achilles was strong, and his armor snapped the blade. The iron shattered, piece by piece, but shards blanketed the broken man, His face flecked with scarlet, blinded and crippled, Plagued with all-consuming pain. Beowulf’s arms clutched Achilles’ neck and squeezed firm and full of grit And with a snap and an angry shove He had vanquished the Trojan Menace. “You see? All men must pay for time that they have stolen from the weak! This corpse is now an empty shell! The legend is no more!” Expert's Opinion Beowulf emerged the victor in this battle largely thanks to his immensely greater strength. While Achilles may have had more experience fighting other human foes in the Trojan War, Beowulf was far more prepared for superhuman combat thanks to his struggles with Grendel and his mother. Achilles' battle-fueled rage did temporarily boost his strength, but his arrogance and poor tactical skills betrayed him, allowing Beowulf's raw muscle to gain the upper hand, giving him the win. To see the original battle, weapons, and votes, click here. Battle vs. Diarmuid Ua Duibhne (Mythology) (by Laquearius) Sing, O Goddess, of warlike Achilles, peer of Ares, slayer of men and heroes. Sing of Diarmuid, fearless and courageous Fian, who clashed with the bloodthirsty one, on that fateful day... Diarmuid strode across the sandy shoreline, his eyes darting back and forth across the strange land his ship had brought him to. "Surely the Otherworlders could not have made a mistake... but this land is surely not Éireann," he mumbled to himself as he made his way to the top of a dune. Upon reaching the summit, he spied a great camp ahead of him: countless tents constructed in rows, hundreds of mighty ships beached on the shores. The sun was beginning to set, and several servants were travelling in between the rows of tents, lighting lamps. One tent sat just ahead of him, at the foot of the dune. "Perhaps I shall inqure here, learn more about this strange land. Sincerest hopes that these men are peaceful.. but if not..." Diarmuid pulled Beagalltach halfway out of its sheath. Achilles was alone in his tent, putting on his armor: gifts from his mother, forged by Hephaestus, the godly smith. A great, wrathful fire burned in his eyes, ignited by the spark of loss. Patroclus was dead, slain by Hector. Tomorrow, all of Troy would pay for what they had taken from him. Achilles heard a voice from outside his tent as he place his helmet over his eyes. "Hello? Is anyone home?" The tent flap flew open as Achilles exited. The demigod was marvelous to look upon, his golden armor shining brightly in the last light of the day. "Who are you, stranger?!" demanded the Achaean. "A Trojan spy, here to slit my throat as I rest?" "You are mistaken, my lord. I am... lost, you see." Achilles was blinded by his anger. No reason would be heard by his mind this day. "A likely story." Achilles drew his sword and took up his shield from where it hung on his back. "Your commander will die at my feet, and countless of his bretheren before then. You can be the first." "You're mad!" shouted Diarmuid, as he leaped out of the way of Achilles's first swing. "But if it is a fight that you seek, I will not back down!" The Fian tossed Beagalltach to his left hand and took up Gae Buidhe with the other. He thrusted the yellow spear forward, aiming for Achilles exposed right arm. Achilles quickly raised his shield and knocked the blow away before making a jab of his own, which crashed harmlessly against the Fian's enchanted chain mail. Diarmuid recoiled from the force of the blow, but recovered quickly and made a swipe for Achilles's calves. The demigod quickly sidestepped the attack, and Diarmuid followed up by rolling out of his opponents range to avoid a counterattack. The Irishman scurried back up the side of the dune, and then leaped off, his sword aimed at the Achaean's neck. Achilles reacted quickly and swung his shield over his head, crashing into the Fian and sending him flying several meters. Diarmuid got to his feet in an instant. Spinning around, he hurled Gae Buidhe at Achilles, who easily blocked the projectile with his shield. Achilles snatched up his own javelin, which lay against the side of his tent, and thre it at the Fian. Drawing Moralltach, Diarmuid hacked the incoming javelin apart with one swing of the magical blade. Now understanding the threat that his opponent faced, Diarmuid took out Gae Dearg, the red spear. With spear and sword, he began to sprint back across the beach. Achilles tossed his sword aside and took up his spear, a massive dory crafted by his old mentor, Chiron. "Come then, assassin of Troy! Face your death!" Diarmuid readied Moralltach for a strike as he approached his target. Achilles watched carefully, preparing to counter the next blow. The Fian sprung into the air, thrusting his sword directly at Achilles's face. Much to Diarmuid's suprise, the unstoppable blade didn't even scratch the divine armor. Diarmuid tumbled out onto the sand. "No armor has ever stopped Moralltach before... what kind of beast are you?!" Achilles thrusted his spear at his downed opponent, who quickly rolled out of the way. Darting back and forth across the sand, he handily dodged each of Achilles attacks, before he found a chance to hurl Gae Dearg at Achilles's exposed calf. The red spear tore through the demigod's skin, sending him to his knees with a shreak of pain. Diarmuid snatched up his sword again, and began to bring it down into Achilles's neck. Achilles was faster. He swung his shield upwards, striking the Irishman in the jaw, stunning him. Then he thrusted his spear with all his might into Diarmuid's chest. The spear punched through the chain mail and directly into Diarmuid's heart. Achilles stood up, grimacing at the intense pain in his legs. He removed his weapon from his slain opponent, and kicked his corpse away. "First you fall. Hector is next!" Winner: Achilles Expert's Opinion Diarmuid had a range and agility advantage, but none of that mattered due to Achilles's unbreakable armor, especially the shield. Eventually the fight would come to close combat, in which Achilles's superior strength and heavy weaponry gives him an advantage. In the end, the immovable object overcame the unstoppable force. To see the original battle, weapons, and votes, click here. Category:Bios